8Chapter 1: Brutal, cunning and compassionate
On the beach of Laguna, Hostfede was having the time of his life. After many months of hard fighting, he thought he and regiment deserved it.
The sun was shining brightly.
The air was cool and there was a breeze.
Some birds were chirping.
And Dark Eldar were being sent flying, their distressed cries cut short by the fleshy sounds of bodies being splattered.
"ARGGGGGGHHHHHHH…!" *SPLASH*
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" *THUD*
"CURSE YOU ORKS!" *WHAM*
"MMMHHHHPPPPFFFFFF!" *KABOOM*
Wearing naught but his briefs, Hostfede relaxed, took a sip from his lemonade, let the sun's aura bath over him, gazed at the glistening ocean, and grinned. This was indeed the life he expected when joining the Imperial Guards.
"Oi, Boss," called Big Nob Azzben. "We'z 'aving losta fun 'ere. Ya wanna join uz?"
The Dark Eldar were prisoners taken from the successful operation Shadow's End which saw one of the debase xenos' base of operations in realspace, the Shadow's Maw, destroyed by a combined effort of four Astra Militarum regiments. It was a campaign in which the Emperor's Greenest took part and distinguished themselves. These were NOT the prisoners taken by the Orks; they simply chopped whatever Dark Eldar they could find to pieces. Allied regiments regiment showed pity by taking some of the xenos alive. For the Valpys 4th, however, this pity faded when they saw the full extent of what the Dark Eldar had been doing to humans under their captivity and so, against the order to round up the Dark Eldar to be dispatched to a Craftworld for "rehabilitation", they transferred all prisoners they took to the Emperor's Greenest.
It was a testament to the Orks' vast imagination that they immediately thought up a way to make use of the living spoils they were "gifted" with. Strapping the Dark Eldar in their own bondages (the Dark Eldar's bondages), the Boyz and Nobz of the Emperor's Greenest held a competition to see who could toss these lithe aliens the furthest.
"Yeah, why not?" Hostfede agreed. Much had changed since he took command of the Emperor's Greenest, the first Astra Militarum regiment made up entirely of Orks. Re-organization and establishment of these savage ruffians weren't easy and without the tireless executions assistance of Kommizzar Lorek, Hostfede might as well have given up. The Orks were a social species and their leaders were expected to take part in activities alongside their Boyz as a way of showing why they deserve to be followed. Hostfede would gladly slap his front tail against theirs if these degenerate unblessed xenos had any.
"Out of da way, ya gitz," Azzben shoved his underlings sideways for Hostfede to pass to the center of the mob. "Da boss iz comin' through to play with uz. He'z gonna toss those puny Eldar so 'ard, they'z fly strait into spess!"
"Do it, Boss," cheered random Boy number one.
"Show uz what ya got," hollered random Boy number two.
"I've bet fifty teef on ya. Don't fehl me," added random Boy number three.
Great, as if having to lead all of these Orks weren't responsibility enough, now somebody's wealth was in his hand. Hostfede would not let them, the Astra Militarum High Command, or the Emperor himself, find him wanting.
So far in the competition, Big Nob Shrakka was taking the lead with an astounding seventy-six meters. The Dark Eldar hit the ground at only fifty-three, but his head got knocked off and flew another thirteen. Due to the varying state of the bodies when they hit the ground, the distance was measured from the head, which put Shrakka in first place.
"'Ere ya go, Boss," Kommizzar Lorek handed Hostfede the Dark Eldar well bound into a ball. The Kommissar took part in the tournament and acted as the referee; aside from Hostfede himself, Lorek was the only one feared by every boy and Nob in the regiment, and his words were treated with uncommon seriousness.
"Thanks," said Hostfede, smiling.
"Put your stinking hands off my you damn dirty Mon'keigh!" the Dark Eldar bellowed as Hostfede picked him up. For his size, the xeno was surprisingly light, probably having something to do with the lack of "unnecessary". "I will rip your tongue. I will eat your heart. I will savior in your...ARGGHHH!"
Hostfede tossed the alien before he could finish his rant. All the eyes focused on the flying Dark Eldar who, to everyone's dismay, landed only about fifteen meters away. It was feat for a human, but pale compared to what the Orks were capable of.
Before the Gretchin could arrive to measure properly, the Dark Eldar sprang to his feet and shaking away the bondages. Then, he ran for his life away from the Orks. He was surprisingly fast despite his injuries.
"Lorek, my rifle," Hostfede made a casual call.
"Of course, Boss," the Kommissar complied, handing Hostfede a richly-ornamented, masterfully-crafted hotshot lasgun which Lord Militant Drake personally gifted to him after the victory over the Necrons on Dorian 7th. The Lord Militant even somehow managed to assign Vindicare Assassin to train Hostfede in the art of marksmanship, for the ability to take out important enemy targets with precision was something his regiment sorely lacked. This weapon was used by Hostfede as much as his power maul during Operation Shadow's End and had proven to be quite an effective tool against the slippery xenos.
Without a word, Hostfede hoisted his weapon and fired a single shot, cutting down fleeing sadistic slaver instantly. The Dark Eldar went down, the upper half of his head a gooey mess. A whooping cheer came next as the Orks realized the Dark Eldar had covered much distance in his futile attempt to escape, adding at least two hundred meters. That put his head (what was left of it) at a distance doubling the furthest toss by an Ork so far. In other words, Hostfede had won the tournament.
"You rock, Boss," said Azzben amidst the rapturous applauses. "Me knew ya coud do it."
"Have I ever failed you, Azzben?" Hostfede commented. Once again his brutal and cunning skills were put to the test, and once again he had proved his indisputable right to lead all these Orks.
With several victories on his back and a medal on his chest, Hostfede descended on the world of Borasis in high spirit. These victories did not come at a low cost. Half of the regiment was decimated in the fighting against the Necrons on Dorian 7th and more were lost during Operation Shadow's End. The Imperium, as one could expect, was not a manufacturer of Orks, so the only way these losses could be replenish was by recruiting from Orks tribes and warbands after kicking in their teeth so hard they could only kneel down and beg.
And that was exactly what was going to happen here. Borasis belonged to the Imperial Knights of House Falconus, but had suffered their negligence for many years, the last time a Knight ever walked on its soil being more than a century ago. As a result, the feral Ork population had been allowed to grow and become a threat to the human settlers. After many failed attempts to request for aid from their liege, the people of Borasis had had enough and turned towards the part of the Imperium outside their conclave. In response, three Astra Militarum regiments, the Emperor's Greenest one of them, were deployed to handle the situation and, if necessary, confiscate the planet from House Falconus in the event that subsequent evaluations proved their unworthiness. Borasis belonged to the Emperor of Man, and House Falconus were His stewards; should they ever fail their sacred duty, their rights attached to the asset would be removed.
The first battle did not go well for Hostfede, not in the way he lost or anything, but because his Boyz were so eager for combat that they butchered the whole tribe in its entirety, never minding these were their kin. It was a huge waste of resources, as Hostfede had planned on recruiting these Orks into the Emperor's Greenest. The Imperium, as one can expect, was not a big manufacturer of Orks, so absorbing defeated Ork elements was the only way to replenish their loss and expand the regiment further (a method not that different from what Warbosses around the galaxy had been using since time immemorial).
Moving on to the next Ork settlement, Hostfede knew it was best that he took to the frontline and personally direct the fighting. Winning this battle was a given - the Emperor's Greenest were stronger, more numerous, and had bigger guns and choopas - but the true victory was in subjugating the enemy rather than annihilating them.
"Azzben, you will lead the assault," Hostfede said to his most favored lieutenants right before the commencement of the attack. "Focus on their idol. Destroy it and these bastards will lose their will to fight. Torukk, mount your Boyz on Trukks and encircle the settlement. No Ork is to get out unless I say so. And remember, try NOT to kill them too hard. I want to add them into our ranks."
"Ya can count on me, Boss," Azzben confirmed. After the death of Grakk, he had become Hostfede's next right-hand man. A former Black Ork (or Goff as people called), The Big Nob was brutal and direct, a nasty warrior on the battlefield who could split open a Grotesque's skull with his bare hands, but he acted like a child from time to time, worshipping his Boss as much as his Boss worshipping the Emperor.
"Ezy as pie," Torruk echoed.
"Ya wanna recruit dis feral Boyz, Boss?" asked Kommissar Lorek. "Dey'z primitive and weak and un-Orky. We shoud not dilute the reziment wiff zose uvver Boyz. Not gudd for the reziment's overall quality."
"I know, but they can still serve as cannon fodder," Hostfede explained. "Without them, our Boyz would risk dying more before they get to kill anything. You are from the Bloody Axes, aren't you, Lorek? Surely you can understand."
"Ahh," Lorek nodded intuitively. "Me see what ya talking. Dat'z a good plan."
"Good, we may now proceed."
The attack began in earnest. As expected, the feral Orks were no match for the Emperor's Greenest. Hostfede was in the thick of the fighting this time, his power maul cleaving devastating arcs and sending smashed Orks sideways left and right. In a display of poor tactics, the feral Orks were all bunched together that every hit whether from range or melee could wound or kill multiple at the same time, not to mention the impediment to mobility. Making no such novice mistake, the Emperor's Greenest spread out, surrounded their foe, and crush them like a gigantic pincer.
"WAAAAGGHHHHH!"
"Fuh da EMPRAH!"
"Dat'z it! Dat'z it! Give dem da pointy ends!"
"Bring that thing down," Hostfede gave the order at the massive idol of what looked to be Mork (or possibly Gork) doing a hula dance lying at the heart of the settlement. "Its presence offends me."
"Ya wunt see dat much longa, Boss," Azzben replied. Obediently, he and his mob consisting of the biggest and meanest Nobz in the regiment hacked their way through the hectic melee and charged directly at the effigy. Nothing could stand in their way as these elite warriors. Having reached their designated target, Azzben and his lot spared a second to decide who would be bashing from which direction so that they all could topple it together. With chainaxes, power klaws and headbutts, the Nobz smashed the statue to pieces. "Dere! Dat idol iz no more."
"Good job," Hostfede said, pleased. "Now let's finish this fight. For the Emperor!"
With their idol gone, there was no fighting left in the feral Orks. At once, they fled. The route turned into a massacre as many were gunned down, chopped down, burned down or simply downed by the Emperor's Greenest while many more were trampled by their own panicking tribesmen. At this point, Torrukk and his Trukks arrived to make sure there was no escape. Faced with total extermination, the feral Orks gave in.
"Hold it, Boyz," Hostfede ordered. "We do not want to kill all of them. There are better ways these boys could be useful than target practice."
"Whuteva ya say, Boss," said Azzben. He turned to shout the rest of the Boyz and Nobz to stand down, allowing the desperate feral Orks some breathing space after they had been beaten down badly.
Suddenly, a sound of thunder could be heard even though the sky was as clear as crystal. Before Hostfede could shout his warning, simultaneous explosions rippled across the settlement, blowing pieces of woods and Orks all over the place. This was followed by mass hysteria as Orks, both feral and Imperial, fled in every direction. At first, Hostfede thought this was friendly-fire from his own artillery units (the Orks had a reputation for both unruliness and terrible aims), until he realized the walking mountains closing in his direction.
With vengeance and fury, the Imperial Knights of House Falconus had returned.
There were five of them in total. Gigantic war machines dwarfing even the Gorkanauts and Morkanauts. Four were armed with battle cannons and reaper chainsword, the remaining an Avenger Gatling Cannon in place of the melee weapon.
The route was bigger and more violent than before as the Orks from the Emperor's Greenest joined their feral brethren in running for their lives. Clinging on to his order despite the drastic shift in the situation, Torrukk maintained his stance in keeping the Orks in order. His effort was in vain, however, as the Knights blasted him and most of his Trukks with their battle cannons while kicking over the rest in their advance. Some Orks from the Emperor's Greenest attempted a heroic charge. Most were cut down before they could close in; those that closed in had no means of harming these gigantic monstrosities and got cleaved by massive chainswords or stomped under the Knights' feet.
"All Boyz, fall back," Hostfede shouted amidst the chaos, raising his hand to command Azzben and his Nobz to stay away from the Knights for now. Even if the Emperor's Greenest could win this fight, it would still be against the wrong enemy. House Falconus should not be a foe no matter how blind or stubborn they were. "We cannot win here. All units retreat!"
"Leg it, ya gitz," Azzben boomed. "Leg it! Run like zog! We'z gotta live to fight anuvver day!"
Under the directories of Lorek, the Emperor's Greenest made haste their retreat with surprising amounts of order and discipline, a far cry from the disaster on Dorian 7th where a third of the regiment would rather die fighting than falling back. The feral Orks they were meant to recruit were all but scattered now, but, ironically, they were doing exactly what Hostfede had expected of them: providing distractions to reduce losses for the main force. Still, the Knights were moving steadily forward, leaving thousands of dead Orks in their wake without taking even a scratch. As the feral Orks grew thin, the Emperor's Greenest became their next target.
To the terror of Hostfede and everyone under his command, a trio of Knights broke from the formation and headed straight towards the fleeing column of Orks. For all their mass, the Knights were as swift and agile as a person running, and soon not even the Trukks and Battlewagons would outrace them.
"Dey'z comin' afta uz!" Big Nob Shrakka exclaimed. "What'z we gonna do?"
"Boss," said Kommizzar Lorek. "Leggin' away from this fight izn't wurkin' anymore. Give uz the orda and we will fight dis big Knights to da deff."
"No!" Hostfede replied. "Stay here." The next moment, he did something everyone including himself considered the most insane course of action ever: running back towards the Knights. Distressed cries erupted from the Orks, but all of them were too afraid to help out their Boss. Even Azzben was stunned by this.
Removing his Orkish helmet, Hostfede knelt down in the Knights' path and made the sign of the Aquila with his hands, closing his eyes hoping for the best but fully expecting the worst. Then, the leading Knight stopped, followed by its compatriots. An air of silence hang on the battlefield.
Nothing happened.
Nothing happened.
Still, nothing happened.
Realizing he was not a puddle of blood yet, Hostfede stood up and turned his gaze to the Imperial Knight towering motionlessly above him. Like its cousins, it was painted in the green and orange livery of House Falconus. He guessed this one had to be their leader judging by a large number of ornaments on it compared to the others, though the style was anything but normal. Vines of flowers and fruit covered much of the Knight, giving out a strangely sweet aroma amidst the death and destruction surrounding it.
Hostfede's gambit had paid off. The Imperial Knights were crewed by proud nobles; he had prayed that the absurdity of one man standing before three Knights would cause them to stop their murderous charge and ponder, and that would leave Hostfede room to explain and parley with them. It was a weakness common among the nobles to overthink on trivial matters, and something not to be relied upon under normal circumstances. But Hostfede had no choice. His regiment was about to be devastated and this was the only thing he could come up with.
"Who are you to stand between the Queen and her quarry?" a voice came from the leading Knight. Though it was transferred through a speaker, the voice carried a strong feminine quality, almost melodic. Hostfede wondered if the speaker was designed to make it so or the Queen actually possessing such a rare voice.
"Your quarry is defeated and broken," Hostfede shouted, indicating the smoke-billowing ruined Ork settlement. These poor sods were caught in the middle of two unstoppable forces, much like the humans on Shadowblight when a Tyranid invasion was met with a daemonic incursion. They stood no chance at all. Hostfede would be surprised if any significant number of feral Orks had made it out of there alive. "Cease this massacre at once."
"Really?" asked the Queen. "But are those not Orks behind you, scurrying away like ants from a shattered hill? If you are truly a servant of the Emperor as you claim, then surely you must get out of the way and let us finish the job."
"These Orks are my men," Hostfede replied. "Brave and loyal men. They are part of the Astra Militarum now. By attacking them, you have declared war upon the servants of the Emperor. Turn your guns away or my commander will brand you all as traitors."
"I am sorry, did I mishear that?" said the Queen in disbelief. "You are saying these Orks are friendly. The Orks are cancer that must be removed from the galaxy. Since when does the Imperium recruit these savage beasts into its fighting armies?"
"Since when does House Falconus care so much about Borasis after abandoning it for more than a century?" Hostfede said evenly. "You are supposed to the lords of the humans living here, and yet what how splendid have you been ruling them so far. These Orks I am in charge of, they have come to this place to defend the people you have left to negligence, and that is how you intend on repaying them?"
"My predecessors' mistake is what I am trying to correct," said the Queen.
"Starting by THANKING instead of ATTACKING those coming here to save you people's ass," Hostfede spat. "You have won this battle. Now let us depart without further issue."
"Very well," the Queen conceded. "I don't like it. But if these Orks are Munitorum properties, then I had better not touch them without noticing them first. Perhaps I should have taken a better look at the Astra Militarum relief force order of battle. As for you, I guess I will be seeing you again. I am Baroness Lalenael Whisperwind of House Falconus, Queen of the Borasis and its sister planets. Brave Imperial servant, who stands in front of Knights, who might you be?"
"Lord General Edward von Hostfede of the Emperor's Greenest," Hostfede replied. "We will meet face to face soon after this and you will not be able to hide in that mech forever. I swear I will not be lenient then."
"I expect no less from a humie leading an army of Orks," the reply came from Lalenael.
With that, the Knights departed. Hostfede took a deep sigh as he signaled the regiment to continue their withdrawal. There was nothing left. The feral Orks were either dead or fled far enough that chasing them down was a waste of time and resources.
"Ya did it, Boss," Azzben whooped, seemingly oblivious to what just happened. "Ya drove dem off. Ya scared dem away just by lookin' and shoutin' at dem. Ya so big, not even zose Imperial Stompa coud stand against ya." The other Orks erupted into a cheer, seemingly sharing Azzben's false sentiment.
"Dat wuz dangerous, Boss," commented Lorek. Out of all the Orks here, the Kommizzar no doubted understood what had happened more than anyone. "Zose Knights coud 'ave stomped ya all uvver. And we'x gotta look for a new Boss. And I doubt any Boss woud be as gudd as you, Boss."
"I know," Hostfede told him wearily. Normally, he would gladly play along with whatever antic and stupidity the Orks were prone to, but the encounter with the Knights had given him a headache. "It's like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. If they caught up to us, we might all be dead, or the regiment would suffer a huge blow. I simply took whatever chances I had. Anyway, we will regroup. This war is getting more complicated and we need to be ready for it."
Hostfede was by no means pleased with the outcome. All in all, the mission was a total failure. Hundreds of his Boyz were dead, Big Nob Torrukk included, many Trukks ablaze, and not a single recruit was inducted. The most painful part was that an Imperial force, supposedly his ally, had nearly caused a catastrophe which Hostfede had to risk his own life to prevent. No matter, he thought. The Imperium was more than just swords and guns, and the battle of politics might be just as interesting and brutal as the battle of might. Hostfede had, for the most part so far, stayed away from this type of fight where partial prowess gave no advantage, but this recent development had changed his mind. To cement his superiority to these Orks, he must prove he could conquer all opponents in all battlefields.
The sudden arrival of House Falconus on Borasis had caused such an upheaval that the Imperial advance had to temporarily halt lest there be more friendly-firing incidents like what had befallen the Emperor's Greenest. Orks or humans, the Astra Militarum was considered a foreign force by the unwelcoming Imperial Knights, and that relationship would only deteriorate further with the former trying to correct what was a wound on the latter's pride.
Immediately, Lord General Francis Drake called for a meeting with the Baroness of House Falconus which they agreed to. After taking some rest from the battle and taking into account all the losses, Hostfede went to attend the meeting alongside Lorek (the Ork Kommizzar was granted the right to accompany him outside the Orks' designated quarter). He was eager to meet the so-called Queen in person and show her a piece of his mind for the damages his regiment suffered.
As far as Hostfede was aware, Falconus was a very powerful Imperial Knightly House. Swearing allegiance to no king or dynasty, they ruled over a dozen worlds across three planetary systems. They were arrogant and complacent, evident by the current sorry state of Borasis. Recently, however, the House's Throne-world was recovering from an incident where they were victimized by the Tyranids, comprising of a Genestealer uprising in which the head of Falconus was assassinated and the coming of the Hive Fleet itself. Against the odds, the Knights ultimately prevailed in this ordeal and successfully purged both the Genestealer infiltrators from within as well as the Tyranid invasion from without, though victory would have been unlikely had the Inquisition and Sisters of Battle not assisted them in expunging the xenos taint from their ranks.
In the meeting room, the Imperial Guard commanders of the three regiments participating in this campaign were first to arrive: Lord Militant Francis Drake who masterminded the operation, Edward von Hostfede of the Emperor's Greenest, Jackson Haller of the Alexia 9th, and Ma'raq Boggar of the Veridian 132nd. Aside from Lord Drake, all generals present were escorted by their second-in-command whose role in this meeting mainly consisted of sitting pretty and looking important.
"I heard those Knights give you and you Boyz a bloody nose back there," Haller snidely remarked.
"It's not that bad," Hostfede assured. "I still have plenty of Orks around."
"And soon there will be more," said Boggar, somewhat worriedly. "I have heard of your regiment's exploits on Dorian 7th. A great victory against the Necron. Emperor be proud. But the Orks are an unruly kind. If your regiment expands, do you think you can handle them on your own?"
"I don't handle them on my own," Hostfede assured him. "I have help." He nodded at Lorek who returned approvingly.
"I see," Boggar contemplated. "I will wish you the best of luck with that. Such a great resource requires proper management and so far, you have proven yourself up to the challenge."
"You are giving me too much credit, Lord General," said Hostfede. At this point, he was used to being showered with praises – not that he did not deserve them.
The sound of trumpets announced the arrival of representatives of House Falconus. If the music itself was not cringe-worthy enough, the Baroness and her bodyguard caused a few jaws to drop the moment they walked in.
Standing next to the Queen of Borasis was a man covered from head to toe in pitch black armor. The red visor-slit of his helmet was the only thing that distinguished him from a giant piece of coal. With mechanical movements no different from a servitor, he exerted a grim and forbidding demeanor which contrasted vividly with the appearance of the one he was accompanying.
Lalenael herself was dressed in a white dress and wore nothing on her feet aside from a couple of toe rings. Like the mech she rode on, the dress, despite emblazoned in heraldries of her Knightly House, was entangled in plants and vines which provided neither discomfort nor impediment to her as she slipped gracefully as if dancing to the meeting table. A crown made of gold and leaves sat firmly atop her head; the same was the color of her hair that looking from afar it was difficult to discern which green belonged to flora and which to hair, assuming the two were separate entities to begin with. For a leader of the faction possessing some of the most powerful and advanced war machines of the Imperium, the Baroness of Falconus looked like a person who was one with nature.
"Greetings, commanders of the Astra Militarum," said the Baroness, her voice carrying a dream-like feeling that was as unnerving as it was pleasing to hear. She took her seat at the other end of the table and opposite of Lord Militant Francis Drake with as much smoothness as a snake wrapping itself on its doomed prey. "I am Lady Lalanael Whisperwind, head of House Falconus and rightful ruler of Borasis. Your presence on a territory entrusted to my House by the Holy God-Emperor and His Son, Lord Commander Roboute Guilliman, is unexpected. I believe there have been some misunderstandings, on my part as well as yours. I hope we may come to a conclusion that will befit us all when the meeting is over."
"That is what we are hoping as well," said Lord Drake. He and Kommizzar Lorek were the only persons unaffected by the Baroness's appearance.
Hostfede had deduced it before he saw the pointy tips of Lalenael's ears poking out from the bundle of hair and vines. The Eldar Exodite communities dwelling on worlds controlled by House Falconus were supposed to be vassals to them as much as any human, but it seemed the table had finally turned. When the Inquisition and Sisters of Battle expunged the xenos taint from House Falconus, they had clearly missed the elephant in the room.
"And it seems we have met again, General Hostfede," Lalenael continued, eyeing the commander of the Emperor's Greenest and Ork standing behind him. She gave him an innocent, childlike smile. "My apology for what happened earlier. Please forgive me for crashing on your victory, blowing hundreds of your good men to smithereens and nearly killing you."
A softer heart might have given in to her seduction, but leading thousands of Orks demanded that Hostfede be brutal and cunning all the time (or at least ninety percent). "That remains to be seen," he replied coldly. If this xenos had risen so high in Imperial hierarchy just as Hostfede advanced in Orkish hierarchy, then she was not to be underestimated even without her big bad battle mech.
Well, this campaign was going to be very interesting indeed.
Author's note: Alright. It's been a while since I posted any Warhammer-related thing. So here goes. The opening scene is inspired by what happens when you defeat Dark Eldar as Orks in Soulstorm, which is now sadly cannon (WTF Relic, Stubbs totally nailed that one!).
2017 has been a mixed year for 40k and overall, I am both pleased and worried. As a fan of Warhammer 40k, I hate the way the lore is so poorly managed. Just because the main source of revenue is the tabletop game which people come up with their own narrative doesn't mean you should force fans to pay money for crappy stories. It certainly has been an eventful year for 40k, though, so how do you think about it?
The Goods: Guilliman is back. The plot is FINALLY moving forward. Eldar (Aeldari) - Imperium alliance is confirmed.
The Bads: Fall of Cadia retcons too much, including the reduced role of the Necron from fighting actively to trolling. 8th edition makes blobbing popular. Also, Montarion is fucking OP. Primaris Marines are introduced too quickly. Of course, if it takes 100 years for the Blood Angels and Imperial Fist to have these guys while the Ultramarines just casually roll with them, there would be fanboy butthurts.
The Insultings: Dawn of War 3. There are just so many wrong things with this one that I will pretend it doesn't exist. Who was this game made for? Why is every character in the like a brain-dead retard? Where is the 4th faction?